Part 4 (1/2)

”All right,” said Ronnell. ”Your sword blade bounces off the ogre and stabs you through the heart.”

Farfell opened his mouth to protest, but blood began to pour out. His eyes widened and he clutched at his chest. There was more blood oozing between his fingers. His eyes shone with anger and confusion, and then with one final despondent glance in the direction of the Mousser, he keeled over.

Just before Farfell hit the floor, once again there was that glorious glow of light that, under other circ.u.mstances, I would have gazed upon with wonder. Now it simply horrified me as the essence of Farfell leaped across the table and into the receptive Ronnell.

He gasped in what sounded like almost s.e.xual delight, and then he sat there, his head lolling for a few moments, rubbing his chest while his tongue strayed across his lips. Then he let out a contented sigh and looked at me.

”You're obviously full,” I said. ”We can continue this later. I'm sure...”

”The door awaits ye,” he told me.

I forced a smile, trying to ignore the rapid thudding of my heart.

”Yes. Yes, I'm sure it does. And don't think I'm not anxious to get myself killed for your dining and dancing pleasure. But the fact is, I was never much for adventures to begin with. So if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon shut this one down.”

”Tell ye what. I'll make it easy for ye,” he said. ”Ye suddenly find yerself magically transported through the door into the adjoining chamber. There before ye, ye see a great flaming sword hanging in the middle of the room, suspended by an invisible force.”

”And you must think I'd be a great flaming idiot for even considering getting anywhere near it.”

”Ye are going to reach for the sword. Roll the dice to see if ye are able to command it.”

I still couldn't rise out of my chair. I tried to reach around to yank my own sword from its scabbard in the hope that I could fling it at him, perhaps impale him. But my arm wouldn't move.

”Ye think t'kill me,” he smiled, as if able to read my mind... which, for all I knew, he could. ”It doesn't end that easily, Apropos. Ah am the Magic Maestro. Ah control yer destiny.”

Something in the way he said that, the incredible smugness, overcame my blinding fear and ignited my rage, which was always bubbling just beneath the surface anyway. ”The h.e.l.l you do!” I said. ”I'd've lived a long and happy life if I didn't have a destiny of any sort. Instead I've spent my entire existence with different people telling me I have a great destiny that I'm supposed to live up to. A destiny I want no partof, thank you very much. But this much I know: I'll be d.a.m.ned if I give a bullying, soul-sucking lunatic like you command over whatever destiny my future holds, great or not. You control my destiny? G.o.ds supposedly control man's destiny, and I've killed a G.o.d or two in my time, so don't think you can sit there all menacing and magical and get me to knuckle under to your parlor tricks!”

He didn't seem remotely impressed. ”Roll the dice.”

”Youroll the b.l.o.o.d.y dice!” and I lunged, sweeping my hand back as if to knock them toward him.

And he flinched. His face was still a mask of forboding, but for a heartbeat there was a look of concern in his eyes as he shrank back from even the prospect of the accursed dice coming his way.

That was when I realized. I thought about how he had never actually touched the dice. He had upended them onto the table from their pouch.

The thunder cracked outside, closer and closer, and there were even more alarmed shouts from above.

A desperate thought flashed through my mind, and apparently it did so at the exact same moment in Ronnell's. We both grabbed our respective ends of the table and tried to upend it, angle it so that we were in the superior position and the downward slope of the table would send the dice clattering toward the other.

The power in my arms, thanks to a lifetime of hauling myself around by them to compensate for my lame leg, is not to be underestimated.

He shoved the end of the table upward, and the dice tumbled toward me. I pushed forward, shoved back, briefly s.h.i.+fting the tilt so the dice began to roll the other way. I tried to shove the table over so the accursed things would fall to the floor. It didn't work. They clung to the table with an uncanny life of their own, which I was beginning to suspect they truly did possess.

We grunted, cursing at one another, trying with all our respective might to bring ruin upon the other.

The dice rolled one way and then the other as we jockeyed for position, and the rocking of the boat itself didn't help matters.

The mug of mead I'd been drinking from overturned, falling against my chest and sending foaming liquid cascading into my lap. I jumped from the unexpected coldness, and Ronnell let out a triumphant howl as he thrust upward with all his strength and the dice tumbled right toward me. There was no way I was going to be able to avoid them.

Seized with a final burst of desperation, I grabbed the mug and brought it up to the table level. The poisonous dice tumbled into the mug without coming into physical contact with my person.

For an instant Ronnell hadn't seen what happened, and tried to move the table so he could get a better view. Grabbing the opportunity, I slammed the table forward. The far end struck him full in the face, and I heard a satisfying crack, which I recognized as the sound of a nose being broken (having heard it several times emerging from my own face). I shoved the table aside, the game components clattering to the floor, Ronnell flopping back onto his chair and grabbing at his nose, muttering a string of imprecations.

”And you can choke on your flaming death sword!”I shouted, as I swung the mug around and let flythe dice.

For the first roll of the evening, luck was with me, for Ronnell opened his mouth wide to shout something at me, and the dice flew straight in as if they had eyes. Snake eyes.

He gasped, choked, and reflexively swallowed, and I reached into myself and into him with pure force of will and snarled, ”The flaming sword of doom doesn't like you.”

He coughed, gagged, clutched at his throat, at his chest, as whatever dark magic the dice possessed worked its way and will through him. He began to tremble and toss about, and suddenly I could stand once more, which I did so forcefully that I overbalanced the chair and fell backward out of it. I scrambled to my feet as best I could, clutching my staff. I pressed the hidden trigger and a blade snapped out of the open mouth of the carved dragon on the end.

I wasn't going to need it.

Ronnell fell against the bulkhead, trembling, howling, energy appearing to build up from within him, smoke rising from his open mouth, from his ears. His eyes began to smolder, and jets of flame suddenly ripped from them as he screamed. It was then I realized the significant problem. When others had rolled the dice, whatever horrific circ.u.mstance had hit them had struck from without and worked its way in.

With Ronnell, it was going from the inside out.

The table was sideways on the floor. I threw myself behind it just as Ronnell exploded with deafening force. The game doc.u.ments, the part.i.tion he'd used, all went up instantly. The incredible power of the energies released slammed the table back against me, and me in turn against the far wall.

I heard a ma.s.sive roaring and thought it was coming from within my head. Then the smell of salt and spray was overwhelming, and I peeped out from behind my table just in time to see a sight that caused my heart to sink somewhere into my boots.

Ronnell was gone.

So was a good chunk of the boat.

Where he'd been standing and exploding, there was now a vast, gaping hole, and seawater was rus.h.i.+ng in with the eagerness of a group of sellswords at a virgins' convention. There was no way out.

The water was gus.h.i.+ng everywhere, barreling up the steps leading to the upper decks. I did the only thing I could think of: I clutched onto the table for dear life, lying flat on my staff to hold it in position as best I could.

Seconds later there was water everywhere. I took a deep breath, wondering how many days I could hold it, and then I was yanked out of the room, holding on desperately. I had clutched my first lover with less tenacity than I did that large piece of wood.

Water pounded against my face, and I held on all the more tightly. Then I was out of the s.h.i.+p and completely submerged, whipping around, closing my eyes and trying not to gasp reflexively from the shock of the chill water and violence of the spin. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to curse. Either response would have been fatal. So instead I sank my teeth into the inside of my lower lip and found myself praying to beings for whom I'd had nothing but contempt before. At that point I even recalled the time when I'd crossed a stone bridge into the land of Wuin and had fancied I'd seen sea G.o.ds raging at me from either side as the waters had surged around me. They seemed rather annoyed with me at the time. Iwondered bleakly if they carried a grudge.

I tumbled about, lost track of which way was up and which was down. I figured that I had some measure of safety, since wood floats. Then I thought about the fact that the boat I'd been on was most likely going to sink like a rock, and suddenly the buoyancy of wood was called into question. Trying not to panic even as I felt the air beginning to burn in my lungs and seeking release, I let out a few bubbles and watched them float. They trickled away in the direction that, had I been left to my own devices, I would have sworn was down. Perhaps the G.o.ds were perverse enough to reroute air bubbles to lead me astray. I'd put nothing past those poxy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Nevertheless, I decided to trust in what I laughingly referred to as nature and I kicked in the direction of the bubbles, keeping the table tightly under me.

There seemed to be nothing but darkness ahead, and I was becoming more and more certain that I was simply steering myself to a dark and soggy death in the pit of inky blackness that was the ocean.

And then suddenly I was up and out, bobbing to the surface under a night sky that was alive with lightning all around. I looked down and saw that my staff was still wedged beneath me. I was relieved. That walking staff and I had been through a lot together, and I would have been loath to lose it.

I bounced up and down like a leaf upon the rough waters. I started screaming for help, why I don't know. I managed to twist around enough to see the s.h.i.+p in the distance. TheLarp was listing wildly, and I could see sailors tumbling into the water. They were so far away that I couldn't even hear their screams against the storm, and so ceased my own, realizing that all I'd do was hurt my throat.

Then I saw something that will always stay with me. High, high in the crow's nest, I saw Captain Stout. I was certain it was he, even as far away as I was. He was clutching onto the main mast, and he was saluting, making no effort to abandon the s.h.i.+p and save himself... not that he would have likely had much opportunity for salvation. For some reason, I was certain that he was smiling as I watched the mast slowly descend into the water. Seconds later the s.h.i.+p rolled over onto its side and then sank without a trace. There was no indication that there had been a vessel there at all.

Here I'd sat down to a simple foolish game, and as a result was stranded in the middle of nowhere on a plank, all thanks to Ronnell McDonnell.

”I deserve a break today,” I muttered.